


Amas Veritas

by ScarlettArbuckle



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Prophecy (Final Fantasy XV), M/M, Magical Ignis Scientia, Practical Magic AU, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23694319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettArbuckle/pseuds/ScarlettArbuckle
Summary: (Practical Magic AU) Convinced as a child that his love was poison, Ignis cast a true love spell to make sure he'd never fall in love, and distanced himself emotionally from his friends and family. Growing up cold and self isolated, his life begins to change the moment he meets Noctis' new friend.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 16
Kudos: 36





	Amas Veritas

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I apologize in advance! I enjoy writing immensely but I am honestly slow to update these stories. I have every intention of finishing, but I am very slow. If you are still interested in reading, comments are very much appreciated and I will update as soon as I can!

There is an old magic passed through the gentry living in the Tenebrae countryside. Cultivated among the rocky villages that cling like moss to the sheer cliffs, the magic is intangible and understated, refined and without flare, but no less real than any magic borne from the fingers of Kings and Oracles. The Oracle could siphon the pain from a victim of scourge, could renew the flesh and fix the broken of her patients; the Kings could weave the elements through their fingers, and tear through matter and space like stepping through a veil. Meanwhile, the magic grown in those rugged cliffs was one of healing poultices and lucky charms hidden among shawls, of potions to soothe the soul and heal the mind, or simply to ensure a spot of much needed luck. And all magics, mundane or extraordinary, were intrinsically tied to one another.

Woven into the murmured spells of hedgewitches or passed through cautionary oral history trickled down from the age of Solheim, the magic was real and alive and as intrinsic to Ignis’ being as the accented lilt of his voice, the green of his eyes, and the spots of his skin. The boy could be taken out of Tenebrae, but that magic could never be taken out of the boy. While no cottage witch like his mother was, Ignis as a child was no stranger to rituals over brewing tea; his was a childhood of eyelash wishes blown from fingertips, and herb gardens carefully tended. 

His mother grew up in those wild mountains. The stories she told of her childhood remember her as a wildling, a girl of tangled hair and strewn with leaves; but as the wife of the Lucian ambassador to Tenebrae she came to live in the manor of the Oracle with her son.

“Why would you ever leave the town, mother?” He once asked, his eyes shining with tears. “It’s lonely here - I want to go to the woods, I want--”

“Love.” She said with a smile, gently smoothing a green paste of herbs and clay over his pockmarked cheeks, her eyes soft and sympathetic. “I love your father, and wanted to be close. I’m happy here, Ignis, as you will be. And the woods are not so far.” And it was true, for they could see them out the window, and visit when they liked.

.・。.・゜✭ ゜・。.

But the months passed, and so it was that Ignis, as a boy of the Scientia line, was offered the position of companion to the prince of Lucis. He and his mother moved across the sea to Insomnia, where they were given quarters in the citadel - a tower presiding over a sea of concrete and twisting, looping highways.

“Why did we ever leave Tenebrae, mother?” He asked again, homesick and sniffling and hiding his face in her lap.

“Love.” She said with another smile, gently combing her fingers through his bangs, smoothing it back with homemade pomade. “Your father and I love you, and want you to pursue a chance to succeed. I’m content here, Ignis, as you will be. And the woods are not so far.” But through their window they could only see a distant copse of trees, and when she didn’t know he was looking, Ignis had never seen her look so lost.

.・。.・゜✭ ゜・。.

Months turned into years. Lucis was nothing like Tenebrae, with its fields of sylleblossoms and sprawling vistas. It was a land of civilization, of sprawling cityscapes and light pollution. Together, Ignis and his mother grasped at the vestiges of their craft; herbal remedies and stories, symbols and herbs sewn into pillows to ward off bad dreams. Salt thrown over shoulders, and gazing up at the stars at the fringe of the city, reading divinations.

The magic was real, even in Lucis, and with pride his mother said that he had a firm grasp of it. But as he grew, Ignis’ focus was drawn more and more towards his duty to Noctis, and less on the arcane and the weave of household magic his mother had imparted to him. It was only the growing resignation in her shoulders, and the lingering, distant stares out the citadel window towards the far-off woods at the edge of the Wall that convinced him to keep up the study at all. He wouldn’t have this time with her forever, he rationalized. Soon he would be grown and busy, and he’d have no time for his mother to fill his head with stories and whisper words of magic, real or not.

“Come with me to see the fireflies?” Noctis had asked one fateful night, blue eyes shining hopefully; but Ignis said no, and instead he retreated to the edge of the Wall to stare up at the stars. ‘A shooting star, make a wish!’ Noct’s voice sang in his mind, and on the days he sat atop the citadel to stargaze with him Ignis would cheerily agree. But with his mother Ignis felt his stomach plummet as the comet streaked through the sky beyond the Wall - to their eyes, an omen. The death of a star is the death of a king.

They return to chaos. Noctis is on the edge of death, the king is distraught, and Ignis’ pale-faced father tells them that he will be leaving to accompany the King to Tenebrae to appeal to the Oracle for healing. 

“Please - mother, let me go with him! He’s my best friend, I can’t - I wasn’t there for him, please I have to go with you! Why ever can’t I go?” Ignis begged, grasping like a child at his mother’s skirts. And his mother, eyes bright as if she’d read something in his eyes and, finding the answer, she smiled weakly, cupping his cheeks and dropping to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“Love...,” She said, this time not as an answer but as a term of endearment, “I love you, and because of that I can’t let you go. But I’ll go with your father instead and watch over the Prince for you. You’re safe here, Ignis.”

And that night Ignis hugged his parents, kissed Noct’s cheek, and watched them go to Tenebrae. 

Months later, Noctis returned home, hollow-eyed and haunted, clinging to Ignis as soon as he saw him, unspeaking of the fire and screams he’d witnessed only nights before. Ignis numbly pet back his hair and tried not to think about his uncle’s pitying looks and the two empty spots in the king’s procession that belonged to his parents.

.・。.・゜✭ ゜・。.

There is an old magic in Ignis’ blood, that pounds in his ears as he sneaks through the citadel halls in the dead of night, skirting skillfully past patrolling crownsguard. The gardens, enclosed in the greenhouse along one corner of the citadel, are beautiful with the moon cast overhead through the glass walls. A cat stretches languidly, half caught in a moonbeam, and watches with shining eyes as he steps to the trellis of sprawling rose canes. 

There is an old magic, turning his fingertips numb as Ignis gingerly plucks a white rose petal, dropping it into a small bowl tucked against his aching heart.

“They will be able to see the beauty in everything.” He whispers, treading over soft grass to reach the next flower, reaching to take the next petal. 

“They will be marvelously loyal and kind.”

“Their favorite shape will be a star.”

“They will have… purple eyes.”

Tears threatened to spill over his eyes, but Ignis paused at the last flower, focusing on the swell of intent and magic, just as he’d been taught. All these were possible traits… but the final piece...

“They will form a constellation, and have no name.”

Gently, Ignis pushed open the paneled window that led out onto the grounds, and held the bowl aloft, gazing through wet eyes as the petals lifted into the breeze, scattering into the inky sky, empty for once of stars. The spell complete, he sagged to a ragged heap on the garden stones, roughly scrubbing his hands over his cheeks.

His parents had loved him, and because of that love they’d been killed. If he hadn’t asked his mother to go she might still be alive, and if she hadn’t wanted him to succeed she would have spent her final years in the woods she loved so much instead, not wasting away somewhere she wasn’t meant for. And, ultimately, it was her falling in love with his father that trapped her in such a life in the first place. Ignis already loved too many people to spare them all completely, but at least in regards to this he could do something.

He could ensure he didn’t enfold some other poor person into this; by tying his love to someone who couldn’t exist.


End file.
